Page 25 of Nanny for the Demon's Twins

"So they'll be alright?" Karn's deep voice trembles slightly.

"Oh yes, perfectly fine." She rummages in her bag, pulling out packets of dried herbs. "Mix these with honey and warm water, give it to them every few hours. The fever should break by tomorrow morning."

Luna stirs, violet eyes fluttering open. "My head hurts."

"I know, little one." Zanul touches Luna's cheek. "But you're being very brave. Both of you are."

The toys gradually settle as the healer moves her hands over their bodies, the magical storm calming. Once she has helped settle them, she shows me how to prepare the herbal mixture, her movements efficient but gentle.

"The fever actually helps their magic settle into proper channels." She packs up her supplies. "Think of it like a river finding its course. Right now it's flooding, but soon it'll flow smoothly."

"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me as both girls drift into calmer sleep.

"Just doing my job, dear." She pats my hand. "Keep them cool and comfortable. They'll be running around causing regular mischief again before you know it."

Karn doesn't leave with the woman. He stays with me, watching as the twins drift in and out of a fitful sleep, but their magic still pulses through the room in waves.

I can't keep still so I do what I can to keep the girls comfortable. We work to keep their skin cool, wiping away sweat as they writhe in their beds.

I wring out another cloth in the basin, careful not to splash water on the floor. Karn's shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for it, his skin radiating warmth even through his shirt.

"Here." He hands me a fresh cup of the herbal mixture. Our fingers touch, rough calluses against my softer skin. "Nova's due for another dose."

"Thank you." I shift on the edge of the bed, cradling Nova's head. "Come on, sweet girl."

Karn kneels beside Luna's bed, his broad frame somehow fitting in the small space. He dabs at her forehead with such tenderness that my chest aches. A strand of copper hair has escaped his tie, falling across his violet eyes as he bends over his niece.

"You're good with them," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly from exhaustion.

"So are you." I adjust Nova's blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Most men wouldn't know what to do with sick children."

"Most men wouldn't take in their brother's orphaned daughters either." His jaw tightens, then relaxes. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"No, it didn't." I pass him a fresh cloth. Our hands linger for a moment longer than necessary. "You gave up everything to raise them. That's... rare."

It's rare for a demon to care. I know that firsthand.

Luna whimpers in her sleep, and a book shoots off the shelf. Karn catches it mid-air without even looking, setting it gently on the nightstand. The casual display of his reflexes reminds me just how different we are - him a demon craftsman, me a runaway human slave.

"They're all I have left of him." His voice drops even lower. "Of them both."

I reach across the space between the beds, squeezing his forearm. His muscles tense under my touch, then relax. We find solace in each other as we keep passing cloths back and forth, our movements falling into an easy rhythm as we tend to the twins through the night.

But hours later, Luna's whimpers grow louder, and my heart clenches at the sound. Her small body trembles despite the cool cloth on her forehead. Nova's fever broke an hour ago, but Luna's temperature keeps climbing.

Karn paces the length of the room, his shoulders tight with tension. "It should have worked by now. The healer said—" His voice breaks. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, copper strands falling loose around his face.

"Here." I press a fresh cloth into his calloused palm. Our fingers brush, and I feel him shaking. "Let me check her temperature again."

Luna's skin burns against my palm, worse than before. A sob catches in my throat as she tosses fitfully, her magic making the blankets writhe like living things.

"Uncle Karn," she cries out, reaching blindly.

His face crumples. I've never seen him look so lost, so afraid. Without thinking, I grab his hand. His fingers curl around mine, rough and warm and desperate for comfort.

"She's strong," I whisper, squeezing his hand. "Like her uncle."

He doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb traces circles on my wrist, right over my brand. But I don't flinch. "I can't lose her too. I can't?—"

---